"Everything is satisfactory," the middle robot replied. Its voice was ambiguously tenor, neither masculine nor feminine. The inflections and assumed Australian accent were perfect. Arthur could easily picture a cultured and prosperous young man behind the voice.

"These gentlemen, David Rotterjack, Charles Warren, and Arthur Gordon, have traveled from our ally nation, the United States of America, to speak with you and ask important questions."

"Greetings to Mr. Rotterjack and Mr. Warren and Mr. Gordon. We welcome all inquiries."

Rotterjack appeared stunned. Since he was clearly unwilling to speak first, Arthur faced the middle Shmoo and said, "We have a problem."

"Yes."

"In our country, there is a device similar to your own, disguised as a volcanic cinder cone. A biological being has emerged from this device." He related the subsequent events concisely, marveling at his own apparent equanimity. "Clearly, this being's story contradicts your own. Would you please explain these contradictions to us?"

"They make no sense whatsoever," the middle robot said. Arthur controlled a sudden urge to flinch and run; the machine's tone was smooth, in complete control, somehow superior. "Are you certain of your facts?"

"As certain as we can be," Arthur said, his urge to flee replaced by irritation, then anger. They're actually going to stonewall. God damn!

"This is very puzzling. Do you have pictures of these events, or any recorded information we can examine?"

"Yes." Arthur lifted his briefcase onto the table and produced a folio of color prints. He spread the pictures before the Shmoos, who made no apparent move to examine them.

"We have recorded your evidence," the central robot said. "We are still puzzled. Is this perhaps attributable to some friction between your nations?"

"As Mr. Bent has said, our nations are allies. There is very little friction between us."

The room was quiet for several seconds. Then Rotterjack said, "We believe that both of these devices—yours and the cinder cone object in California—are controlled by the same—people, group. Can you prove to us that we are incorrect?"

"Group? You imply that the other, if it exists, is controlled by us?"

"Yes," Arthur said. Rotterjack nodded.

"This makes no sense. Our mission here is clear. We have told all of your investigators that we wish to gently and efficiently introduce humans to the cultures and technologies of other intelligences. We have made no threatening gestures."

"Indeed, you have not," Bent said placatingly. "Is it possible there are factions among your kind that oppose your actions? Someone perhaps trying to sabotage your work?"

"This is not likely."

"Can you offer any other explanation?" Bent asked, clearly frustrated.

"No explanations are apparent to us. Our craft is not equipped to dismantle worlds."

Arthur produced another packet of photos and spread them before the robots. "Half a year ago, a moon of the planet we call Jupiter—are you familiar with Jupiter?"

"Yes."